


More than just goodbye

by SweetTARDIS



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Smut, diverges in season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21717772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetTARDIS/pseuds/SweetTARDIS
Summary: When Jaime and Brienne part ways in King's Landing, he gives her more than just gifts.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 4
Kudos: 101





	More than just goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> My first piece of work, this one's for all the fantastic JB writers whose work I've been quietly gobbling up. I love you all and hope you keep inspiring me with your beautiful pearls of JB goodness.

Brienne stared at the suit of armor, overwhelmed and struck with disbelief that someone could do such a thing for her. When he had offered her his sword, she’d thought there lay, perhaps, a hidden joke behind the cover of his seemingly benevolent act. But his eyes had worn no such hint of ill-intent or mockery, nor had his words strayed in that direction. It had been his genuine wish that she go on to fulfil the vow they’d jointly sworn.

But this--this armor crafted to perfection was something else, altogether.

“I hope I got your measurements right,” he said, and she found herself blushing, a reaction no man had managed to evoke in her yet. 

Moving closer, she held out a hand to touch it. Kindness wasn’t something she was accustomed to, so she had to caress it and feel it and tell herself that this was really real. She wanted to express her gratitude, but she didn’t dare open her mouth, because if she did, she feared she might end up saying more than just a thank you. 

She didn’t want to blurt out in a surge of emotions that Cersei had been right in her assumption. She couldn’t afford to embarrass herself in front of the man she had grown to respect, admire and love. She had no strength left in her to suffer another heartbreak after Renly.

She couldn’t offer him herself. Not that he’d want her, anyway. So her reassurance was all she could lay before him as a token of her appreciation. An attempt, a quest to return his lost honor to him. Blinking furiously, she said, “I’ll find her. For Lady Catelyn.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him nod with a faint smile playing on his lips. “And for you,” she added. 

These words were a declaration of her love. Buried deep in her heart was an affection she could never share with him, and no more than this much, could she express it to him. This was the last and only opportunity to let him know in some way that she cared for him. The wench he loved to criticise and belittle had fallen in love with him.

A wench, he would forget as soon as she turned her back to him, she realised with a heavy heart. He belonged to Cersei’s arms, and she, in the eternal embrace of her oaths.

They stood like that for a while, not looking at each other nor saying another word. And like everything else beautiful, the moment soon passed, and he was back to the crisp stiffness characteristic of him, the fleeting touch of tenderness in his voice, gone, when he said, “I have something else for you, but that can wait until the morrow when I will have it sent to you before you leave. So be gone, wench, for this is goodbye.”

Now she met his eyes, pricked by the sudden brusqueness in his tone. Stripped off all emotions, there was only a steely edge to them. Perhaps, she had read more into his gesture, more than he’d intended for her to see.

When she said nothing nor made any attempt to leave, he went on with the same stinging bitterness, “What are you still waiting for? Make yourself scarce before I change my mind and decide to--”

She broke into his flow of speech with a blatantly honest, “You won’t.”

He challenged her confident assertion with a defiant stare that had the remnants of the man she’d once despised. “What makes you think so?”

Her next confession was an assessment of him. To be able to voice it took her far lesser courage than she thought she needed, for it was a truth truer than any other. “You’re a good man.”

“I’m the Kingslayer,” he spat, self-loath in his eyes, “an oathbreaker--”

“But you just kept your word,” she argued back. “You gave me gifts with my word to help you keep yours.”

“There’s always a last time to everything. I’m a Lannister,” he went on, lacking the usual pride the mention of his house evoked in him. “I belong here, with the King, with my family and Cersei.”

She pulled in a heavy breath. “I’m aware of that. I expect nothing more than what you’ve already given me.”

“Leave then,” he curtly dismissed her again. “And I sincerely hope we do not have to cross paths again, wench.”

***

Sleep was neither her enemy nor her friend. At times, it paid her a visit, holding her hands for longer hours, but most of the times, it kept away, abandoning her to the company of lonely nights. Tonight was one such punishment with nothing but a dark ceiling and flickering candles to look at. Tomorrow might bring in some respite, she hoped. And Jaime was right in his wishful thinking. Running into him again would only bring despair to her. Unrequited love was like hitting one’s head against a wall. It would only result in pain and hurt and misery, for he wasn’t one who would abandon his duty. A hideous wench like her had no power to oust his sister from his heart. Harsh words, despite his kind deeds, were all he could spare for her. She’d be lying to herself if she said she didn’t want more than that, but _more_ wasn’t something the gods had written in her future.

Her resignation to fate, however, hadn’t stopped her from thinking about him all evening, and repeatedly recounting the strange goodbye they had shared. If only she could bid him a proper farewell… If only… On an afterthought, she scoffed at herself and her naive expectations. She’d be a fool if she thought he would come running to her-- 

The soft knock on her door pushed aside these thoughts to fill her head with trepidation. 

Who could be calling on her almost at midnight? She sat very still, waiting, hoping whoever it was, would leave her at peace thinking she was asleep. But the pounding refused to leave her be, growing louder, and after a while, restless and desperate. She tiptoed down the room toward the door, but didn’t open it. 

Standing noiselessly by it, she weighed her choices.

“Wench,” hissed a voice from across the barrier, putting an end to her contemplation. “I know you’re in there. Stop pretending to be asleep and open the damned door--”

She didn’t know whether to be glad or shocked, surprised or worried. All she knew was that she wanted to let him in. And that was what she did.

“I thought you didn’t want to cross paths with me again,” she coldly pointed out as he kicked the door shut.

His eyes shone in the glow of the dancing candle flame. “I thought so too, and wished for it, in fact.”

She crossed her arms to her chest, unable to fathom the reason for his odd-timed visit. “What brings you here then? Is there anything I can do for you--”

With a few quick strides he was by her, close to her, burning her with the warmth of his breath. “I couldn’t sleep,” he whispered, the arrogance and smugness gone from his voice. “And I presume, from the look of you, that you couldn’t either.”

She wanted to look away. She wanted to tell him to piss off. “I couldn’t,” she replied, instead of telling him off, telling him the truth.

“Why?” His voice had turned softer, huskier, every word he said, setting her off in shivers she couldn’t control.

“I--I don’t know,” she whispered, standing her ground, fighting to keep her composure.

He took another step forward. “I think you do, Brienne.” It was the first time that evening he’d called her by her name. “I know you do.”

His closeness was detrimental to her stability, but she could do nothing nor say anything to drive him away. “I don’t,” she denied, hoping he would fall for her indifference and go away. “I wish for you to leave at once, Ser Jaime. I don’t want to see you again--”

“Don’t lie,” he snapped, his breathing getting heavier. “You cannot, Brienne, because your eyes betray you.” 

“I’m not--” she began to protest, but a sudden movement of his head in her direction distracted her.

“You are,” he asserted, his eyes daring her to prove him wrong. “So was I. I’m sick of pretending, wench, of telling myself that I love Cersei--”

“What?” she yelped in shock, before she could stop herself.

He brought his hand to her arm, and she shivered. He moved it to her face, and she shuddered. His fingers stroked her cheeks, and she did nothing to stop him. And when his lips brushed against hers, she didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t want him to leave. She wanted him to keep going. She wanted him to kiss her, to make love to her. He began in the sweetest, most delicate way possible, exploring the quivering wet edges of her lips, easing her into his touch before pressing deeply into her. He wandered down to her jaw, her cheeks, her chin. So deliciously abrasive his lips were! And so warm! She wanted to cry out, in joy, in shock, in disbelief, but he didn’t let her, bringing his mouth back on hers. 

“Tell me to leave, my lady,” he sighed into her mouth, his fingers gliding down to her chest. “Kick me in the balls. Stop me. Throw me out of these chambers before I--” He deepened the kiss and her cheeks burned from the arousal. She was on fire, both within and outside by the time he pulled back. “Do something before it’s too late, wench,” he continued to goad her into stopping him, his blazing gaze all over her, “before I cross lines that ought not to be breached.”

When she made her reply, it was with the same determination that she’d expressed when she accepted her fate to be left behind with Locke. “Some lines are meant to be breached, Ser Jaime.” She braved his scorching eyes to look deep into them, to tell him that she’d made her decision.

She wanted him. And she would make it as clear as daylight in the dead of this night so that he knew it.

His torrid gaze burning her down, he shoved her against the wall. He slipped his lips against hers, opening her mouth with his tongue, ruthless in his invasion this time. She moaned, pulling his body tightly against hers, and he sucked on her lower lip before sinking his teeth into it. She gasped, and he ran his fingers through her hair, pushing harder into her, pressing his erection into her hips. She could feel him, hard and needy and throbbing for her. And she was wet for him. 

When his hand reached down to grab her breast, thumb on her nipple, she grabbed his hair and yanked him away. “Take me to bed,” she said, barely breathing. “ _Properly_.”

Shaking hands began working on clothes, his on hers, hers on both of theirs, and between the three they had and the clumsy attempts they could manage, it took them a while before knotted laces could be untangled, breeches could be kicked away and small clothes could be done away with.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, gazing at her heaving teats.

“And you’re the biggest liar I’ve known,” she retorted.

Lowering her to the bed, he slid on top of her. “I don’t want either of us to ever forget this night,” he said, feasting on her breasts. “A goodbye like no other, wench.”

She replied by dragging his mouth back to hers. If this was goodbye, she wanted to say it the right way. She wanted to taste him properly, to give him a lasting taste of her. Thirsting for him, she began kissing him in a way she’d never thought she could. Her hips grinding against his, she craved him inside her, for him to rid her of the pain. She needed him to satisfy the burning desire in her right now.

Before she was fully satiated, he broke the kiss, only to get back to devouring her breasts. 

“ _Oh,_ ” she softly moaned, when Jaime settled himself between her legs, the double assault of his mouth and his cock driving her insane.

The pain came when he pierced through her maidenhead, but soon it was gone, a distant memory, wiped out by the sensation of him slowly sliding into her.

A throaty noise escaped her, though not out of pain, and he pulled away from her nipples. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, eyes full of concern.

Shaking her head, she pulled him back to her. She arched and stretched beneath him, her movements easing him, sending him deeper. “I wish you could be mine, Brienne,” he grunted, pumping into her, the length and intensity of his arousal brutal and ruthless. ‘And I, yours,’ he shouted. 

Farther and further into her, he went, hard and relentless, consuming her like fire, every stroke blinding her, taking her one step closer to a culmination she’d only dreamed of in her fantasies, heard of, from women her age who had bragged of wedding nights none like another. Tomorrow they would go their separate ways, but he was hers tonight, for now, entirely and completely _hers,_ the sensation filling her with as much intensity and speed as his hard cock. As his pounding built up to a steadily rising pace, she brought her hands to his chest, teasing the hair that decorated it. Down his ribs, she let her fingers roam, guiding him, clamping her legs around his waist, driving him further into her until their sweat-covered bodies were sliding together as one.

His lips upon her, his body on hers, him inside her - that was all that mattered, not Sansa, not Cersei, nothing else. When she could bear it no more, she came with a strangled cry of his name, caving in when her walls caved in around him. She was all molten inside, dizzy and unstable. She knew nothing but Jaime. She felt nothing but his skin on hers. She heard nothing but his furious roar when he came inside her.

For now, for tonight, her world was Jaime.

“Brienne,” he uttered her name, a gentle satisfied sigh following the word when he placed a tender kiss on her mouth.

“If only things were different,” she said sadly, wrapping her arms around him. Now that the storm of bliss had passed, she dreaded the moment she’d have to say goodbye.

“Maybe one day,” he whispered, pressing closer to her, “things _will_ be different. One can only hope for it, Brienne.” With a smile good enough to brighten up the rest of her days, he kissed her again. “I sure will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


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